"You hid it where?!"

"Inside of me," Cas grimaced, painfully trying to get comfortable as he sat in Dean's bed. Dean was pacing nervously at the foot of the bed, wringing his hands as he questioned Cas on what happened. "And now Crowley has it?" he spat. "Yes," Cas confirmed. "I'm sorry, Dean." Dean stopped pacing, looking over at him, and his expression immediately softened. "No… No, you don't need to apologize, buddy. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Because of me, Crowley got his hands on the Angel Tablet. How can you say I did nothing wrong?" Dean bit his lip, green eyes searching Cas' face and darting over his other injuries. "You were just doing what you thought was right… There isn't anything wrong with that," he pointed out. "Except that every single time I do what I think is right, there are catastrophic consequences," Cas reminded him. "Yeah, but-" Dean began. "Stop, Dean. Will you just… just come here, for a minute?" Dean swallowed, pausing a beat, and then nodded his head. He circled to the unoccupied side of the bed, gingerly moving closer to sit beside Cas.

"Why aren't you healing as fast?" he whispered curiously as Cas grabbed his hand and started tracing patterns on the back of it. "My grace… it's very damaged," Cas answered slowly. "I think the combination of losing the Tablet and Crowley shooting me with an angel blade bullet weakened it." Dean frowned, watching Cas trace a heart shape on the back of his hand. "Is there a way to fix it?" Cas paused his art project to look over at him. "There… is one thing that might work, but I would never ask it of you."

"What is it, Cas?"

"No, I can't. It's extremely dangerous, even if my grace was intact," Cas shook his head. "Cas, please. If there's something I can do to help you get better faster, I want to do it." Cas swallowed, going back to tracing patterns on Dean's hand. "It would involve touching your soul, Dean. I can't."

"Do it. I don't care."

"I do," Cas snapped. "Dean, it could kill you." Dean pulled his hand out of Cas', forcing him to look over at him. "I want to do this, Cas. You'll be careful, I know you will."

Cas had made a full recovery, though neither he nor Dean could remember all the details on how. They remembered talking about Cas losing the Angel Tablet to Crowley, and then it all got a bit… blurry. Dean had been a lot more exhausted and short tempered since their conversation, though, and it had everyone in the bunker on edge.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas tried apologizing again. "For what?" Dean snapped. "For everything." Mack and Sam exchanged a look at the table. They were going over files from the Men of Letters' archive on demonic possession, trying to find an answer on how to cure a demon for the third trial. "Everything? Like, uh… Like ignoring us?"

"Yes."

"Or like bolting off with the Angel Tablet, then losing it 'cause you didn't trust me? You didn't trust me." Cas flinched at Dean's tone, looking down. "Yes," he repeated quieter. "Yeah," Dean nodded. "Nah, that's not gonna cut it. Not this time. So you can take your little apology and you cram it up your ass."

"Dean, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Yeah, you always do."

The pair stared at each other for a moment, feeling a bit of déjà vu, before Sam cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, do we have a room 7B?" he asked. He and Dean went to investigate, leaving Mack and Cas behind in the library. "How are you, bee?" Cas asked, taking a seat across from her at the table. Mack huffed, looking up from the file she was studying. "I've… been better. But I've also been worse, so I guess I can't really complain." Cas nodded. "I understand the feeling."

In room 7B, Sam was telling off Dean. "Dude, go easy on Cas, okay. He's one of the good guys." Dean rolled his eyes, "Dude if anybody else- I mean anybody- pulled that kind of crap, I would stab them in their neck on principle. Why should I give him a free pass?"

"Because it's Cas."

Dean grunted, focusing on the shelves of files. "What are we supposed to be looking for down here?" he asked. Sam sighed, but didn't press the matter any further. "Um, anything on case 1138. It was a class five infernal event- St. Louis, March 8, 1957." They started going through boxes. "'Class five infernal event'?" Dean echoed. "Yeah. See, the Letters have this whole rating system. 'The Exorcist' would have been a class two." Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Alright, so what makes this puppet show so special?"

"It was weird," Sam replied. "Weird how?" Dean pressed. "No clue. One of the files just had a note written in the margin about room 7B and the word 'weird' with three exclamation points." The elder Winchester grimaced, nodding. "Good times." Sam pulled an old fashioned reel from a box. "Yeah. Got it." Dean had gotten distracted. "Sammy, check this out." He pushed back two sets of shelves to reveal an area with a Devil's Trap on the floor and manacles on the walls. "Whoa."

"Is that Devil's Trap? It takes up half the room," Sam headed over to look at the manacles on the wall. "These chains- they have spellwork etched into them." Dean's eyes were bright, more excited than he had been in weeks. "So we have a dungeon. Finally! What do you got there?" Sam shook the film reel, "Movie night?"

After tracking down an old film projector, the Winchesters and Cas gathered to watch the reel. "Ready?" Sam asked. The projector clicked, and then the black and white film began. "Simon, we're filming," a woman's voice spoke off screen. "Um, hello, world," Simon, a young priest, waved at the camera. "So, this new ritual we're going to see, this new type of exorcism, h-how does it work?" the woman continued. "I don't know. It's my first time," Simon told her.

"Wait, is that Abaddon?" Sam asked as the woman came on screen. Behind Simon and his accomplice, another woman was whimpering softly. "It's not kill-y enough," Dean shook his head. "It's got to be the, uh, the chick she possessed."

"Josie," Mack supplied the name as the mystery woman screamed and grunted. "Hurry, we must do it now," an older priest addressed Simon and Josie. "Dead! They're all dead! Everyone you ever loved…" the other woman screamed. "Hey, those chains look exactly like the ones in our dungeon," Sam pointed out. "In your what?" Cas asked in surprise. "Demon on a leash," Dean mused, ignoring Cas' first normal reaction to something ever. "Cool." The demon continued to scream, tugging against the chains around her wrists.

"Excorcizamus te, omnis immundis spiritus… hanc animam redintegra," Simon and the older priest started reciting, "Lustra!" After slapping a bloody hand to the woman's chest, the screen went white, and when it cleared, the body of the woman fell to the floor, her heart missing. The reel crackled as Josie spoke. "She's dead." Both priests were coughing as Josie became hysterical. "Where's the demon?" she demanded. "Stop filming," the older priest ordered. "What happened?"

"Will you just stop?!" The projector clicked, stopping. "Well, that was weird… With three exclamation points," Dean looked over at the others. "That wasn't a normal exorcism. They changed the words," Sam frowned. "I believe 'lustra' is Latin for wash or cleanse," Cas informed them. "Oh, yeah, 'cause that was the most freaky thing was the vocabulary," Dean quipped. "What about the bloody high five or the chest burster? Anything else on the film, like director's commentary, sequel, maybe?"

"Yeah, listen to this. The older priest, Max Thompson, bit the dust in '58, but the younger one is still alive and still in St. Louis," Sam said, looking at the file that accompanied the film. "Think this kind of weird is worth the drive?" Dean asked. "Dean, everything in those folders- the possessions, the deals, all of it- we've seen that before, but that- That was all new. Yeah, it's worth the drive."

"Alright. Let's roll. Not you." Cas looked at Dean with a deer-in-the-headlights expression, offended. "Sam is more damaged than I am," he pointed out. "Yeah, well, even banged up, Sammy comes through," Dean told him. "Dean, I just want to help."

"We don't need your help. Just stay here with Mack." Cas opened his mouth to argue further, but Sam and Dean had already disappeared down the hall. "It's okay, Cas," Mack said, walking over to stand beside him. "He'll come around, eventually." Cas sighed, "Maybe." Mack bit her lip. "Cas, what happened? When you two talked when we got back? That's when he started acting like that." Cas shook his head, "I don't… really remember. It's strange. I was in so much pain from my injuries, and we were just talking about what happened, and then… my memory is fuzzy after that."

"That's weird," Mack frowned. "It is," Cas nodded. "And frustrating… I thought after I broke the connection with… with Naomi, I wouldn't have any more problems." Mack stiffened at Naomi's name, nodding. "Yeah… Metatron said something weird about Dad while we were talking to him, too." Cas furrowed his brow, tilting his head curiously, "What?"

"He… he said he thought he sensed something off about Dad, but that he was wrong," Mack shrugged. "Off how?" Cas pressed. "I don't know. He didn't get too specific. Just that he sensed something off about Dad's 'energy' and that it was nothing." Cas hummed, frowning as he contemplated the information. "Thank you for telling me, Mack. You should go get some sleep." She nodded, "Alright. Night, Cas."

"Good night, bee. Sleep well."

Cas had gone on a supply run the next day and hadn't returned. Sam and Dean had gotten back to the bunker with all of Father Thompson's exorcism accounts up until two days before he died. It turned out he was using purified blood to dose a demon who'd possessed a man and ate his children. After the eighth dose was administered on hour eight, the Father recited the altered exorcism and the demon turned back into Peter Kent. "Could we take this hoodoo for a test drive?" Dean asked.

"Um, I mean, we have the exorcism right here," Sam nodded. "All we need is the blood, consecrated ground, and a demon. So, what? We summon a demon, trap it-"

"Or-" Dean interrupted, "or we use one we've already tagged. Do we still have John's old army field surgeon's kit?" Sam nodded, "It's in the trunk. Why?"

"Yeah, I think it's time we put humpty dumpty back together again." They set up another room, sewing Abaddon back together minus her hands. While they talked to her, Sam's phone rang with the number '666'. "Crowley," Sam growled when he answered. "Crowley?" Abaddon echoed. "The salesman?" Dean glared over at her, "Try the king of Hell." Abaddon scoffed. "This is a joke, right?" Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "Stay." They walked out of the room, leaving Abaddon alone while they talked to Crowley.

"Hold on," Sam said, switching the call to speaker. "How'd you get this number?" Crowley answered, a smirk on his voice, "Ah, first thing's first- what are you wearing?" Dean clenched his jaw angrily, "Oh, okay, hanging up now. Hang up." The demon sighed, "Fine. This isn't a social call. I was wondering. You lads been reading the papers, say, Denver Times from yesterday? No? Well, you should. It's side-splitting. What the hell- I'm sexting you an address. Check it out. Then we'll talk. Cheerio."

"Wait, what?" Sam asked. "Crowley?" The phone beeped as Crowley hung up without another word. "What was that about?" Mack asked curiously. "We're gonna find out," Dean told her.

"Here it is," Dean announced a little while later. "Vic's name is Tommy Collins. Tommy. Why do I know that name?" He looked over at his brother. "You guys saved him from a Wendigo back when you were starting the search for John," Mack said. They both looked over at her. "How do you know that?" Sam asked.

"I read the books," she shrugged. "You what? When?" Dean demanded. "When you ditched me at Grandpa Bobby's," she shrugged again. He gave her a long, hard stare of disbelief. "Alright, so what are we thinking Crowley has to do with this?" Sam cut in. "Mm-mm-mm," Mack hummed an 'I don't know', pointedly avoiding her father's gaze. "Alright, we'll pour one out for Tommy later," Dean grumbled, still glaring over at her. "As far as Crowley goes, screw him. We got everything we need to put him in a permanent time out."

Sam and Dean headed back into the room where Abaddon was being kept. Mack had been instructed to "Stay out, no matter what" by Dean. However, that particular instruction was ignored as soon as Dean started yelling. "No. No! No! No! No! She's gone. She's- son of a bitch!" Mack stared at the empty chair with wide eyes as Sam knelt and picked up a bloody bullet from the floor- the same one Henry had shot into Abaddon's skull. "Dean, Dean!" Dean looked over, clenching his jaw when he saw the bullet. Just then, Sam's phone chimed. "It's a text message from Crowley- an address in Prosperity, Indiana."

"The witch case with the tongues in the cupcakes," Mack nodded knowingly. "Okay, there's no way you can remember every single case from those books," Dean said. "Hey, I'm the one who figured out the Leviathan clones of you and Uncle Sammy were hitting the places you worked cases in order, and I did that because I'd read the books. I think I might have photographic memory…"

"Y-" Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Alright, we gotta check this place out," Sam announced. "Well, you know it's a trap," Dean pointed out. "Of course it's a trap. But a trap means demons, and we could use one right now."

Jenny Klein, the woman they'd saved on the witch case, was dead when they arrived. "What the hell are you doing Crowley?" Sam growled, putting his phone on speaker. "Oh, Moosie, isn't it obvious? I'm killing everyone you ever saved- the damsels in distress, the innocent whippersnappers, the would-be vampire chow- all of them." Dean was livid. "How do you even know-" he glanced over at Mack. "I have my sources and a cracking research team," Crowley bragged, chuckling. "When you boys hit a town, you tend to leave a mess. Now, you're probably wondering why my droogs aren't in there giving you the bum's rush, so let's brass these tacks, shall we? I'm gonna gut one person every twelve hours until you bring me the Demon Tablet and stop this whole trials nonsense."

"We don't have the Tablet," Mack said. "Kevin took it and-"

"I took Kevin," Crowley finished. "Then someone took him back. Word from the cloud is that it wasn't Heaven. So either the cutest little Prophet in the world is with you three idiots, or you better find him tout-bloody-suite because time, she is a-wastin'. About now, you're thinking of ways to stop me. You won't be able to, but you'll try because that's what you do. You- you try. So, time for an object lesson. Indianapolis, the Ivy Motel, room 116. You have fifty-seven minutes."

All three Winchesters rushed from the room as Crowley hung up. Dean may have broken a few laws speeding, but that didn't matter. Sam knocked on the door, freezing when he saw the woman on the other side. "Sarah," he breathed. "Sam," she smiled a little, then frowned. "What's going on?"

"I, uh, don't have much time. Can I come in?" he asked. "Yeah, sure," she nodded, stepping aside to let him pass. She took a seat on the bed, Sam pulling up a chair across from her to explain the whole situation as quickly as possible. "So a demon named Crowley is gonna kill me in… sixteen minutes?" she asked, glancing at the clock. "No. No, he's not," Sam shook his head. There was another knock on the door and Sam stood to answer it. Dean and Mack entered, carrying bags in from the car. "Sarah, long time," Dean sighed, greeting her as they set down the bags. "What are you doing in Indy?"

"I… was scouting an estate sale for my dad," she answered. "Is that Mckinley?" Mack waved, "Hi." Sarah smiled, "You got big." Sam addressed Sarah again as Dean unzipped one of the bags and started taking out supplies. "Look, we're gonna put Devil's Traps everywhere- the windows, the door. We've got holy water, an exorcism ready to play on a loop, and anything that comes through that door- it's meat. Look, I know this is insane, but insane is kind of what we do. We'll keep you safe." Sarah nodded, "Okay."

"Okay?" Dean echoed. "That's it?" Sarah shrugged, "You've done it before." Dean and Mack started working on drawing Devil's Traps and demon-proofing the room while Sam stayed by Sarah. "That's new," he gestured to a wedding ring on her hand. "Yeah, I… His name is Ian. He works search and rescue. Guess I have a type," she smirked at Sam knowingly. "Our daughter, Bess- she'll be one in a month." Sam smiled, "That's, uh, great. I mean it. I'm really, uh… I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks, Sam. What about you?"

"Me?" Sam chuckled. "Pretty much the same, I guess." Over by the wall Dean and Mack exchanged a look as Sarah called Sam out. "No, you're not. You're not the same. Look, it's been years and I can't imagine the things you've been through. But I don't know. You just seem… more focused, confident, like… like you know what you want. Mckinley's not the only one who grew up, Sam." She laughed. "I do miss the old haircut, though," she ruffled his hair and they both laughed.

The motel room phone rang and Dean answered it. "Crowley." The demon began counting down. "Five… Four…Trios… Zwei… uno." Sarah collapsed to the floor, gagging. "Sarah! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Can you hear me? Sarah!" Sam knelt beside her. "She's dying, and there's nothing you can do about it," Crowley taunted. "You son of a bitch!" Dean yelled. "Son of a witch, actually. My mommy taught me a few tricks."

"It's a spell," Mack realized. "Find the hex bag." They started tearing apart the room as Crowley's voice continued to carry through the speaker. "I thought of sending in a few of my bruisers, really letting them go to town. But then, well, trial one was kill a hellhound. Trial two was rescue a soul from the pit. So, from here on, I'm gonna keep everything Hell-related- demons, et cetera– away from you. Safe side and all that– plus, I just thought it seemed fitting. From what I understand, Sammy took that bird's breath away. What's the line? 'Saving people, hunting things- the family business.' Well, I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused– the one thing that allows you to sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are out there, still out there happy and healthy because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes!"

Sam went back to Sarah's side, holding her head up. "Hey! Hey! Hey! You're gonna be okay." Mack and Dean were still searching frantically as Crowley continued, "Sarah? They're your life's work, and I'm going to rip it apart piece by piece because I can, because you can't stop me, and because when they're all gone, what will you have left?" Sam was crying freely then, still cradling Sarah's head. "No. No, no, no. No. No, please, no." Sarah went limp, dead in his arms. "You want to keep those people alive. I want complete and utter surrender. The Tablet, the trials- you'll give them up, or we'll keep doing this dance. Your choice, my darlings." Crowley hung up the phone.

Dean threw the phone angrily across the room at the wall, breaking it. The hex bag came tumbling out of the plastic pieces. Mack's hand rose to cover her mouth in shock as they all stared at the little bag on the floor. Father and daughter were close to tears, while Sam continued to cry with Sarah's dead body on his lap. "D-daddy?" Mack asked. "We gotta get out of here," Dean said, clenching his jaw and refusing to let himself break down.